Contrition and Comprehension
by Evita the Akita
Summary: This is set at the end of the movie. I know that everyone under the sun has done a fic like this, but I want to make my contribution. SLASH. NOT AU


**NOTES****: Yo, I'm back after not updating anything for…forever…sorry… This is set right at the end of the movie. I don't do AU, so, yes, Peter dies. I'm so very sorry. Please, please, please review! Enjoy!**

**Contrition and Comprehension**

"Just… Just tell me some nice things…about Tom Ripley."

I leaned on him, laying my head on his back.

"Good things about Tom Ripley. That could take me some time."

I wound the cord of the bathrobe tightly around my hands.

"Tom is talented."

I tried not to think about what I was about to do.

"Tom is tender."

I just stopped thinking about it and listened to his voice. He had such a gorgeous voice.

"Tom is beautiful."

That was what got me. It touched me and reminded me at the same time.

"You're such a liar…" The words came out choked. He continued. He must have thought I was only laughing.

"Tom is – Tom is a mystery."

I thought of what I wanted to say to him, how I wished I could answer him.

"Tom is not a nobody."

_But I am. I am to the world, Peter, even if I'm not to you._

"Tom has secrets he doesn't want to tell me, and I wish he would."

_I do, too._

"Tom has nightmares." He paused, then added, apologetically, "That's not a good thing."

_You don't know, Peter. You don't know what it's like…_

"Tom has someone to love him. That is a good thing."

I tried as hard as I could to hold back the tears. I dug my head into his back, nuzzling him like a cat.

He moaned with pleasure. "Tom is crushing me," he murmured, chuckling.

The cord still wrapped around my hands, I rolled onto him. Straddling him, I crawled up until I lay on his back. I kissed his neck, feeling shivers through his skin.

"Tom is crushing me," he whispered. He was so relaxed.

That was my chance. Sobbing, I crossed the cord over itself, making a loop, slipped it under his head, and pulled.

"Tom… You're crushing me…"

I had to listen to his coughing as I sat on his back, pinning him to the bed while I strangled him. His voice grew fainter.

"Oh God, oh God…oh God…Peter…"

I couldn't take it anymore. I let go of the cord, falling off of him and turning him over. I knelt at his side, leaning over him, one shivering hand on his cheek, the other stroking his hair. The cord hung limply around his neck, but he was still suffocating. He was barely alive. I wished that he would come back, that he could start to breathe again. I knew it was impossible. I had crushed his throat. He had a few seconds to live, and in those few seconds, I begged.

"Oh God, Peter, please forgive me, please," I moaned, my tears falling on his face, his sweet, innocent face. There was disbelief in his emerald eyes, and pain. So much pain. "Peter, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please, Peter, forgive me… Peter, I love you… I love you…" I tenderly kissed his cheekbone as he passed away.

Cradling him in my arms, I cried harder than I ever had before. I sobbed like a baby crying for its mother to come, to comfort it. Only I was crying for Peter. I held him to my chest, burying my face, my tears, in his soft brown hair.

Still sobbing, I gently laid him down, caressing his head as I rested it on the pillow. The sheet music he had been studying was strewn across the floor where it had fallen, forgotten. His eyes were so empty… I closed my eyes, lying down beside him, my arms still wrapped lovingly around his lifeless frame. I kissed his cheek, my forehead pressed against his temple.

"I'm sorry…" I whispered again.

I cried myself to sleep as I lay, broken, at his side. I didn't sleep long. He filled my dreams. I whispered his name when I woke up. Then I remembered.

I cleaned up the music slowly, carefully, gently, treating every page as if it were a part of him. I set the folder on the dresser as if I was laying him in his grave.

I lifted his body, forced to fireman's-carry him because of his height. I got him to the door. I couldn't bring myself to take him any farther. I turned away from the door, carrying him to our bathroom and laying him down in the tub. I locked the bathroom door on my way out. I left our cabin and ran out to the deck. Trembling, I leaned on the rail, looking up at the sky. It was the middle of the night. There were a few small clouds. The stars were magnificent. A few tears fell down my face. _I defy you, stars._ I felt sick when I thought that. Shakespeare reminded me of Dickie.

"Dickie!"

I didn't have to turn around to know it was Meredith. I heard her footsteps coming nearer. I couldn't talk to her. I couldn't look at her. I couldn't believe I had kissed her. She was the reason. The reason why I was alone. The reason why the emerald eyes were empty.

She leaned on the rail next to me with that usual expression of being exasperated and slightly helpless at the same time.

"Oh my God, Dickie," she said, rolling her eyes. "If I have to deal with Aunt Joan and her little posse for one more minute, I'm just going to snap." She went on like that for I don't know how long.

More tears welled up in my eyes. "You think you've got it bad?"

"What?"

"Just leave me alone." I was crying again. She finally noticed.

"Oh my God, what's wrong?"

I didn't answer. I felt her fingers rubbing my shoulder.

"Dickie, what's wrong?"

"Just leave me alone…" I tried to catch my breath around the tears. It came out in sobs.

Her hand slid around to my other shoulder. She leaned her head against mine. "Dickie – "

"Leave me alone!" I roared, shoving her away. I strode, quickly, back to the cabin. She stayed behind, shocked and bewildered. My pace slowed down as I approached the door. He was asleep. I didn't want to wake him up. I entered the cabin, walking calmly to the bed. It was quiet. I could think.

That was when I realized that I couldn't live with myself. I couldn't live with what I'd done. First I accused myself; I berated myself. _You could have been happy, _I told myself._ You could have lived out your life with him. He loved you. You loved him. You could have been happy… _Then I understood. Even with Peter by my side, loving me, caring for me, I would never have been happy. It was impossible. There were too many lies, too many secrets. Too many ghosts. The house had been crumbling. Now it's destroyed. All that's left is the basement.

Now, my pencil scratches along the paper, telling everything. Confessing everything. I have my glasses on to see what I'm writing. It's been a long time since I've used my real handwriting. _Strong slant to the right: Passionate, emotional, needs to be supported by others. Falling baseline: Tired, weighed down, out of hope. _I need to tell them everything. They need to know they were wrong. Marge needs to know she was right. They need to know that I regret it all. It'll be easier, I think, for me, knowing that in the end I did the right thing and confessed.

I finish the letter with my signature. My own signature. Thomas L. Ripley. I get up, remove my glasses, setting them on the sink, then rummage through my travel bag to find my razor. There is still a scar from when I cut my hand with it. _Either get a safety razor or grow a beard…_ The memory of his silken voice makes my heart ache even more.

I tape the letter on the bathroom door before taking the key out of my pocket, unlocking the door, and entering. I know what I'm going to see, but my heart still turns when I do see him, lying in the bath, staring at the ceiling. There are already bruises forming on his neck. I hate to see him like this.

I'm shaking. I'm scared. But I have to. I can't live like this. Not anymore. I close my eyes, bringing the razor to my wrist. I apply the necessary pressure. I shiver when the metal penetrates my skin. It's easier, cutting the other. Quicker.

It stings like hell. There's blood on the floor. Even after seeing Dickie's blood everywhere in the boat, after having to wash Freddie's off of the bust of Hadrian, it still makes me sick. I'm getting lightheaded. I'm seeing stars. I'm terrified.

"Peter… Peter, help me…"

_No. No, he's dead. I killed him._

I stumble to the tub and fall in, lying next to Peter. I don't want to get blood on him, but it's impossible not to. Spots of red are already spreading, defiling the perfect blue of his shirt. Even though I'm quavering like a leaf, I manage to reach up and close his eyes. My blood drips onto his cheek.

I can barely focus my eyes. I gather up my strength and pull myself forward, kissing his frozen lips. When the kiss is over, I let myself drop. I don't want to move anymore. I'm too tired. My right hand is on his head. My left is on his shoulder. My head rests on his chest. I fall asleep.


End file.
